


Search Beneath The Falling Skies

by nitpickyabouttrains



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Broken Boys, Comforting Each Other, M/M, Yuletide 2015, and being sad, because everything is terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 02:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5399042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/pseuds/nitpickyabouttrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He kept staring out into the Scorch, into the wasteland. Nothing moved between their small camp and the horizon. They were alone. And if danger came, he would be able to see it, to have some warning. This was as safe as they could be, as they had been in recent memory. In Minho’s memory at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Search Beneath The Falling Skies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starrie_Wolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/gifts).



The sky was clear above them, the moon full and bright. Yet Minho could not help but feel nostalgic for the bonfires they used to light in the Glade. He missed the warm glow, the flickering lights, the warming flames. It had always been a comfort, and now, in the middle of the Scorch, his mind wandered back to the simple contentment the fire had offered. 

None of the other boys seemed to be having the same problem. It had been a long day, and after eating some meager rations, everyone else had passed out, clustered together. 

Minho, however, dared not close his eyes. He had tried, when the sun first began to set, and everyone else started to drift off. But all he could see behind his eyelids were flashes of the last few days. Of being chased, first by WCKD, and then by what had once been people but were now just bodies infected by the flair. Of endless, vast plains of nothing, as far as the eye could see. Of Winston, laying on the ground, hurt and in pain, begging for death, and the shot that echoed around them as it came. 

From the darkness he heard a  CRACK.

Minho jumped, visions of Winston overtaking his mind, the gun in the other boy’s hand as he begged not to become one of the infected. 

Closing his eyes would just make it worse, he knew from experience, so Minho forced himself to look around, taking a deep and breath. Counting. In 2 3 4. Out 2 3 4. In 2 3 4. 

To his right, Newt was breathing slow and steadily, fast asleep. It was all in his head, there was no noise. They were safe. For the moment, at least. It was all in his head. Out 2 3 4. In 2 3 4. 

“Hey,” a gruff and sleep-filled voice came from his left. 

Minho startled, not expecting anyone else to be awake or talking. His heart jumped in his chest,  picking up speed. 

He focused on the familiar tone, which had on more than one occasion saved his life. One hand he gripped his own knee, and the other went to cover his heart, as he focused on calming down. In 1 2 3 4. 

He kept staring out into the Scorch, into the wasteland. Nothing moved between their small camp and the horizon. They were alone. And if danger came, he would be able to see it, to have some warning. This was as safe as they could be, as they had been in recent memory. In Minho’s memory at all. 

“Go back to sleep, Thomas,” Minho said, once he was sure his voice would come out normally. 

There was a slight rustling, and Minho turned his head, to see Thomas doing the exact opposite. The other boy sat up, shaking his head lightly, as if to clear it. 

“What are you looking at?” Thomas asked, his voice was low, a whisper, so as to not bother the other sleeping members of their camp. But he spoke almost directly into Minho’s ear, bringing their heads close, so that it was all Minho could hear, the warm breath against his neck. 

“Nothing,” Minho said, matching his voice to Thomas’ s . 

Thomas scooted closer , so that their sides were pressed together, leaning on Minho a little. His eyes were focused out into wilderness, just like Minho’s had been. 

Thomas was warm from sleep, from the day of activity, and Minho could feel the heat of him through the layers of his own clothing. He felt a shiver go through him, realizing how cool the rest of his body was, the part without Thomas. 

“Why don’t you sleep?” Thomas asked, though it sounded more like a suggestion. “It’s been a long day. And tomorrow…” 

He trailed off, but Minho knew exactly what he was saying. They didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. It was also going to be a long day. They all were. Every day was hard, always had been. There was no rest when there was nowhere safe, nowhere to hide, nowhere to retreat.

“In a little while,” Minho said, without meaning it. 

Thomas pulled his knees up to his chest, pressing more into Minho as he moved around and got comfortable. 

It was the opposite of the reaction Minho had been expecting. Thomas was settling in, not going back to sleep himself. Thomas yawned, lowering his chin to the tops of his knees, and looked out into the horizon. “Right,” he said quietly. 

“You don’t have to stay up with me,” Minho said, frowning at the other boy. “I can see you’re tired.”

Thomas shrugged, bringing him even closer to Minho, so that he was now leaning on him. “Can’t sleep,” he said, his voice so low Minho almost didn’t hear him. 

“Yeah,” Minho sighed, letting himself collapse into his friend, so that he was leaning too. “Me neither.” 

The confession took something out of him, made the facade seem pointless, and Minho could feel the panic coming back into his chest. He forced himself to take a deep breath. In 2 3 4. Out  2 3 4. In 2 3 4. 

“I keep thinking of all the kids still with WCKD,” Thomas said, like he was confessing a crime. “I just left them there, I didn’t even try. A whole room of them, hooked up to medical machines, unconscious, hanging from the ceiling, powerless.”

“There wasn’t time,” Minho said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t like you planned it.”

“No,” Thomas agreed, his words sounding surprisingly harsh. “I didn’t plan anything at all. No plan. No idea what to do. Look where it’s gotten us.”

Minho turned and looked at his friend, surprised by the dark thoughts. Normally Thomas seemed so confident, so sure of himself and his actions. Minho was not used to hearing him question himself. It made him seem softer, more real. 

He thought about where they would be without Thomas’s actions, without his lack of a plan. Just the day before Minho had been yelling about it. And now, after even more terrible things had happened, he knew he had been wrong. None of them knew what they were doing, what needed to be done. 

All they could do was survive. And so far, that had only happened because of Thomas. 

“It’s gotten us away from WCKD,” Minho pointed out. “We’re alive and looking for The Left Hand because of you.”

“We aren’t all alive,” Thomas pointed out. 

“No,” Minho agreed. “We aren’t.” He could still see Winston laying in the makeshift stretcher, too weak to move on his own. He could see the exact patch of Thomas’s shirt he had been looking at as they walked away from Winston, leaving him alone, abandoning him, hearing him take his own life. 

Thomas pressed his lips together, his mouth set and determined. Minho could see the moon reflecting in his eyes, the normal deep brown flashing with silver, dangerous. 

Minho found he could not pull his eyes away from Thomas, from the powerful look on his face, the resignation and the resolve, the sorrow and the hope. It was an enticing combination, resolute yet still full of contradiction. 

“I won’t let it happen anymore,” Thomas said, a strange savagery in his voice. 

It was a dumb thing to say. Minho knew Thomas couldn’t make a promise like that, couldn’t guarantee they would all live. Yet the way he said it made Minho want to believe. 

“It’s dangerous out here. You have already saved my life, more times then I can count,” Minho pointed out. “I don’t think I have ever thanked you for that. Since the Maze, I mean, since we left the Glade-”

“I won’t lose you, too” Thomas said, cutting him off, like there was no question, no chance for an alternative. 

Minho could barely breathe for the finality of the statement. Out 2 3 4. Thomas didn’t want to lose any of them, but he singled Minho out.  In 2 3 4. Was it because he was talking to him? Out  2 3 4. Fuck it. 

Leaning toward the firm, warm weight against his side, Minho moved his head, so that he was in Thomas’s space. When Thomas did not pull back immediately, Minho closed the last of the space.

He pressed his lips in Thomas’s, a quick and hard kiss. Thomas’s face was cold under his, but animated, kissing back with equal fervor. Minho did not linger and he did not try to move the kiss further. Instead he moved his face away, much sooner than he actually wanted to, forcing himself to have some control. 

“You might not have a choice,” Minho said softly. “But I trust you.” 


End file.
